The Way of the Black Beast

by Stuart Jaffe

  The hull screamed as a long crack formed near the floor. Water spewed into the air like a fountain gone berserk. Wuchev jumped, and Malja took full advantage of the precious seconds afforded her. She hurdled the box and blocked Wuchev's arm as he tried to aim. The gun fired into the air, flame licking out of the damaged barrel, and the burnt smell swirled around them. He spun away from Malja and attempted a few jabs, but she far exceeded his limited skills. She feinted to the side and punched him hard on the temple. His eyes rolled back and he dropped to the floor.

  To Malja's surprise, Tommy also had taken advantage of Wuchev's initial distraction. While she had been disarming the foolish Captain, Tommy had snatched the robe. He stood on the edge of the shadowed hold as water blanketed the floor.

  "Wait," she called, and despite his worried expression, he did not run away.

  Malja bent down and shouldered Wuchev. As the frigid water rushed around her feet, she stood and groaned like the old ship. He was lighter than she had expected but still a burden. She looked at Tommy's questioning face and said, "If I don't have to kill, I won't." I'm glad I don't have to kill you.

  Tommy led the way through the hold and into the narrow corridors. Wuchev's head dragged on the walls, but Malja had enough trouble lugging the fool to worry about his forehead getting cut up. Water followed them, and when they reached the first set of stairs, Malja could feel the little heat left being sucked away by the ravenous sea.

  Stepping out onto the main deck, sheets of rain covered them. The waves had become mere foothills in the sea, and the wind had eased back to a strong breeze, but the storm had not abated. Wuchev could get the thing going but he couldn't control it.

  Malja placed Wuchev on the deck, resting against the door frame. With reverence, Tommy approached the port railing. He held the robe over the side. He dropped it into the sea. Walking back, he wore a solemn grin. Behind him, light blue painted the horizon as dawn approached, promising a warm sun and a pleasant day.

  The ship took a long time to sink. There was no rush. With Tommy's help, Malja lowered a lifeboat into the water after laying Captain Wuchev inside. She searched the cabins for the young crewman, called out for him, but she never found him and he never answered.

  Later, when the storm had vanished into the distant horizon and the ship had disappeared into the sea's darkness, Malja rowed under the soothing morning light. Tommy stood in the boat for a while, displaying excellent balance.

  That's when Wuchev let out an enraged roar and swiped Tommy's legs. The boy splashed into the ocean as Wuchev lunged for Malja. Malja fell back, posted her foot in the air, and caught Wuchev in the gut. His eyes bulged as the air in his lungs forcibly shot out of his mouth. She tossed him overboard.

  Tommy scratched and clawed at the edge of the lifeboat. Malja rushed over and reached for him — his skin paling and his body shivering in the cold water. As she pulled him up, Wuchev splashed to the surface and latched onto the boy. He punched the boy's ribs. He grabbed at the boy's hair. Madness painted his face as he tried anything to break that boy's grip.

  "I'll drown you, maggot!"

  Malja swung her leg over the side and pressed her foot against Wuchev's head. She looked straight at Tommy and said, "I promise you, I won't let go." Pulling on Tommy and pushing on Wuchev, she started to separate the two.

  Wuchev screamed, but Malja did not stop. "I'm sorry," he blubbered. "I'm sorry. Don't let me die. I'll take it all back. I didn't mean to hurt anybody. I wasn't going to drown the boy."

  Malja raised her foot and for a second, Wuchev smiled as if he had won. With her teeth clenched and her top lip lifted in a snarl, she slammed her heel into his nose, breaking it with a gush of blood, and sending him into the water. His muted screams were strong enough to come through the water for longer than she had expected. She yanked Tommy aboard, and without pause, returned to the oars.

  Tommy looked at her, his eyes shimmering with such a blend of emotion, Malja couldn't tell what he thought. She stared right back at him, unwavering, not giving him an alternative but to deal with his thoughts. She saw fear in those eyes. And anger. And newborn freedom. She thought she saw tremors of the magician within him. And she knew he saw the monster within her.

  But he stepped over to her. He sat at her knees. And he rested his head against her leg.

  Tumus joined her, snapping Malja from her memories. Malja couldn't decide if that was any better. They were quiet at first. Malja wished she would leave and chose to scan the trees rather than risk inviting conversation. She tried to clear her mind, but Tommy's eyes would not leave her. She even tried to think about Gregor's attacker, but doing so with Tumus right there left Malja feeling wrong as if she had defiled his memory a little. She hoped Tumus would give up, but such hopes were dashed as Tumus cleared her throat.

  She began with some dull talk about Fawbry, the cooling weather, and horses. Malja answered in as few words as possible. She knew Tumus was building up the courage to say something and just had to wait it out.

  At length, Tumus said, "What do you know about the Chi-Chun? Other than the superstitious nonsense Fawbry spouts."

  "Not much."

  "Well, let me teach you some things."

  "No, thanks. Don't mean to be offensive, but I don't really care what you believe. Korstra, Kryssta — all that religious stuff never served me well."

  "Then I feel sadness for you," Tumus said with honest pity in her voice. "Listen, though, please. I'm not seeking a convert. I do think what I have to say is important for you and our task — it's about Cole Watts."

  Though Malja did not look away from the woods, her skin prickled. "I'm listening."

  "Thank you," Tumus said. "First, you must see that those who follow Korstra and those who follow Kryssta were not always enemies. Long ago, the brother gods ruled as one, and the world lived in glorious peace. All existed in perfect balance. All was as it should be. Trouble came along with Elatria — an exquisite princess. Some say a goddess as well. The brothers each fell in love with her and each sought to win her over the other. But they are gods and immortal. The world suffered under their endless battle. Until one day, Korstra made a bold and gracious gesture. To save the world, he would give up Elatria and dominion over half the people, and in exchange he called upon Kryssta to do the same."

  "Split control of the world and nobody gets the girl. Nobody's happy, but their pain is equal."

  "Exactly. But Kryssta betrayed Korstra and stole Elatria away. What neither god knew was that they had formed Elatria themselves. And so she required both of their love to exist. Without Korstra, she perished. Now, Fawbry will no doubt tell you this was all Korstra's fault, but —"

  "What does any of this have to do with Cole Watts?"

  Tumus smiled as if pitying a naïve child. "Elatria's death brought about the Devastation."

  Malja shook her head. "I don't believe that."

  "It doesn't matter if you believe or not. It is true. Elatria died, and the Devastation came, erasing most of the world and reshaping the rest. Korstra wept at this loss, but he still had control over half the remaining souls. That included the magicians. Korstra looked down and saw a man drowning in Dead Lake. He pulled together all the matter he could grab quickly and transformed that man into a conduit — a godlike creature, but a damned one, who would someday aid in Korstra's return to power, yet never enjoy peaceful bliss."

  "Barris Mont?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you saying that through Barris Mont a brother god has sent us on a mission to find Cole Watts?"

  "Patience. I'm almost finished. Korstra promised there would be signs to tell his followers if the brother god taking control was him or Kryssta. One of these signs, one that tells us Kryssta is coming, is called the Rising of the Dead. Don't listen to Fawbry. We don't think corpses will come back to life. That is nonsense. We circle Dead Lake so that Korstra can speak to us through Barris Mont at any time. But as for the dead — well, what do you know of science?"

 
; "Almost as much as I know about religion."

  "Before the Devastation, mankind created many wondrous things. Buildings that could fly, ways to communicate across oceans, and machines that could think and work and talk. It took a tremendous amount of magical energy, but they succeeded. These are the dead we worry about. The machines. If they rise again, Korstra will have lost. So, Korstra made us, the Chi-Chun. We absorb the energy, we redirect it if needed, we keep the dead dead, and help prevent Kryssta from victory."

  "Sounds like more superstition."

  "Except that Cole Watts, the one we seek, builds these machines."

  Chapter 11

  Of all the land in Corlin, the Freelands had been hit hardest by the Devastation. Though it had never been good land for farming, it had flourished with rugged trees and dangerous wildlife. After the Devastation, it transformed into barren rocks. Those creatures that survived did so by the most ruthless means. No day passed without the death of something. And oftentimes death was preferred. By the time trees grew again and more animals returned, those that dwelled in the Freelands had grown accustomed to the area. They understood and accepted its rules. Many saw no other way to live.

  Malja led her team along the remains of an ancient road. Every so often they came across a sign marking the way. The signs varied in size. Some were like a shield posted on a metal rod. Some were enormous, mounted on metal framework, spanning the distance across the pocked pavement and beyond.

  "The road used to fill up the whole space," Fawbry said. "I've seen a few up North still intact. I can't imagine what the world must've been like to need a road this wide. I mean, look there." The skeleton of a grounder long ago stripped of anything valuable rusted off to the side. "These grounders weren't big. A road this wide — you could've fit five, six, maybe seven or more across. Can you even begin to picture the numbers of people a world like that had?"

  Malja didn't have to. Thanks to Barris Mont, she had seen it. That world had been breathing and vibrant. It overflowed with exuberance for human life that literally floated amongst the clouds. Surely a world like that would never allow monsters like Jarik and Callib. She didn't lie to herself — evil must have existed. But in her world, especially in the Freelands, people tolerated evil. People tried to strike bargains with evil just to be left alone, to survive.

  In the Freelands, evil thrived. Here, such things held a twisted logic. But in that glistening, peaceful world she had witnessed, it made no sense. Evil lived off want. There was no want in that world. Don't be an idiot. People always want what they don't have.

  The road hugged the sides at each hill and found every crevice as a detour. Half the time chewed-up pavement disappeared leaving only a dirt path to follow. Sometimes the road vanished completely. In fact, Malja realized they could have picked up a different road by mistake. According to the sun, though, they still headed in the right direction. That would have to suffice.

  "You're pushing my tolerance," Tumus said.

  Fawbry had been making little comments all day — praising Kryssta for fresh air or cursing Korstra for a sore muscle. Malja wondered what offense had brought Tumus to the point of threats. The answer forced her to suppress a laugh. Sitting in his saddle, scrunching his features with studious concentration, Fawbry silently read from a tiny book.

  "Put away that vile affront or I'll be forced to put it away for you," Tumus said.

  Feigning confusion, Fawbry looked up from his text. "This? The Book of Kryssta? It's hardly an affront. The fact that Kryssta's guiding hand kept this book safe when I nearly drowned in the Yad should tell you that much. Besides which, even if you don't follow its wisdom, the poetry in these pages is beautiful." Fawbry held the book out. "Here, try it."

  Before Malja even saw Tumus's frustrated, hurt features, she knew Fawbry had done a nasty thing. Odds were that Tumus could not read. No shame there — most people couldn't read. But for Fawbry to flaunt his education, to literally shove it at her, that lacked any sense of respectability.

  Perhaps he recognized his error because, in a solemn voice, he said, "I know you don't believe, but let me share with you one thing from this —

  My brother, my earth, my home, my world —

  The endless angles of ourselves —

  We inhale what others exhale —

  We are formed from others' dust.

  — Do you see? We are all one to the brother gods. After all, even Korstrians believe the goddess Elatria was formed by the brother gods together. We are all one."

  Tumus led her horse ahead, but her hostility lessened for awhile.

  As the day wore on, Tommy's fever returned. Malja dismissed her concerns at first, but when dusk approached, there could be no denying. He had begun the day bright and joyful — sitting upright in the saddle, pointing at trees and birds, smiling. Now, he curled in Malja's arms, shivering and sweating, pale and pained.

  Tumus had noticed, too. She never stopped watching him, and every little groan or shift or sigh he made elicited an overbearing response. In seconds, her horse would ride alongside and she bombarded Malja with questions about the boy that had no answers. She touched the boy's brow with the back of her hand, touched his shoulder to readjust his shirt, and touched her own lips mumbling prayers. Malja bit back her desire to knock Tumus off her horse.

  The sun lowered turning the gray rocks milky blue. The air grew colder. Ahead, they saw a dilapidated structure — a welcome sight amongst the endless rocks.

  The one-story building had a wide roof that jutted out several feet creating a covering for the horses. Probably meant for grounders, Malja thought. Shaped like two cylinders smashed together, the building appeared to have been a way station. Old batteries were piled against the wall, each one so empty of magically-created electricity that its power gauge lacked enough power to give a reading. No surprise, of course. Those things hadn't been charged in over a generation. For that matter, the only thing keeping Nature from reclaiming the space was the barren remoteness of the area — that and the occasional travelers fixing it up for a night or two.

  "We'll stay here tonight," Malja said. Tumus dismounted and hurried to help Tommy down. Malja turned the dappled gray away and said, "See if you can find some firewood." Before Tumus's confused pout found a voice, Malja spied Fawbry near the doorless doorway. "Be careful."

  Fawbry stepped away. "Don't worry. I'm not going in there until you do."

  Once Tumus left on her futile errand (Malja would be shocked if she found more than a sapling or two), Malja eased Tommy off the horse and handed Fawbry the reins. Tommy stood by one of the dented posts holding up the overhang. Any minute he might collapse. She pulled out Viper and approached the doorway. Something smelled horrible like urine-soaked rags.

  Inside, Malja saw a dusty, marble-topped counter with holes smashed through it. Behind the counter, an archway opened up to another room. Rubble lined the paint-peeled walls. In the center, a circle of stones marked the spot many had used for a campfire. Malja peered at the domed ceiling — black with soot. She couldn't see an air vent, but there had to be one, otherwise a campfire would choke the room.

  Just in front of the campfire, she found the source of the stench — four rabbits and a hawk, blood drying on the floor. Her thought — blood sacrifice of one of the smaller religions. When she turned to leave, however, she saw that her thought was severely incorrect.

  "What in Kryssta is that?" Fawbry asked. "It sure stinks."

  "I told you to stay outside," Malja said.

  Tumus entered with Tommy. "It started pouring out there and the overhang is full of leaks. Cold rain is the last thing Tommy needs."

  "Go back outside. I'll take care of this," Malja said with a glance at the undulating, brown mass pasted high on the wall.

  Tumus stepped closer. "Is that an egg sac?"

  "Cocoon. Now get out before anything breaks free of that."

  Fawbry raised an eyebrow. "Looks like someone threw a crap at the wall."

  Tumus pointed
at the dead animals. "Those are for the baby when it gets out."

  "It's a snake-cutter," Malja said, "and when it leaves that cocoon, it'll eat everything in sight."

  Fawbry scratched his head. "So can't you kill it now while it's stuck in there? We'll get a fire going and have baby snake-cutter for dinner."

  "I told you to wait outside. When I strike, if it survives the first blow, I don't want it coming after any of you."

  "I don't want that, either. You've convinced me. We'll wait outside."

  "It's too wet, too cold," Tumus said. "Tommy can't take that."

  "It'll be just a moment," Fawbry said. "Just pray to your Korstra to protect the boy."

  "I do. All the time."

  Malja pointed to the doorway. "Go. Let me get this done." Tumus scowled, but she followed as Fawbry headed out. Tommy, however, stepped forward. He placed his hand on top of Malja's — the one gripping Viper. His hand felt clammy and ill, but his eyes cut into her with icy clarity. She tried to pull away, but he held fast. "I don't like killing," she said, unsure of why she spoke, hating the little girl she heard. "And I've killed more things in my life than I ever wish on anybody. Everyday I live with it. Everyday I know I've got more killing ahead. Right or wrong doesn't matter. Justified or not doesn't matter. I do it because it's all I know. And it kills me."

  Tommy released her hand and collapsed. Tumus hurry to his side. Malja wiped her face — tears glistened off her cheeks.

  Breaking the silence, Fawbry said, "Um, I think it's hatching."

  Malja did not move. She searched Tommy's unconscious face for an answer as to what had just happened. Behind her, she heard the cracking cocoon. He had touched her and she could not stop her talking. She heard the kittenish cry of the baby snake-cutter. He had pierced her with his eyes, and she revealed so much of herself. She heard an odd crinkling as the baby snake-cutter ate its cocoon. The only answer she saw — Tommy had used magic on her.